A Dance Like Flame

Chapter 1

Daniel Ware was a plague on the world.

Not only had his latest invention, the single-rider airship, failed spectacularly in front of the majority of the British Isles, the debris resulting from the crash had caused the rail from London to Edinburgh to be delayed for two days. And now two days’ worth of travelers were streaming toward the train cars, jostling against one another and stepping on toes.

Why can I not simply travel with Mary? Lady Elizabeth Warner, more affectionately known as Bits, asked the conductor. She is my lady’s maid, and I truly do not want to be without her. In fact, she was close to succumbing to outright panic at the thought of spending long hours trapped in a car with strangers without her servant there to divert some of the attention. Mary may not have been particularly competent when it came to her daily tasks, but she was exceptionally pretty and friendly in a way Bits would never be. Even the stodgiest of society matrons eventually found themselves warming up to the girl, and effectively forgetting Bits existence, which was the way she preferred it.

I’m sorry, my lady, but due to the unforeseen circumstances—

You mean an airship that had no business in the air crashing to the ground?

The man’s eyes grew large, but he pressed on. Well, yes, quite. Due to the unexpected disruption in services, we’ve had to rearrange our seating on this particular trip. Ladies who had requested private cars are to now ride together while their servants will be relocated to another part of the conveyance.

Then I should like to be moved to the car containing the servants.

The conductor’s head began shaking before Bits could even finish the sentence, and she knew the battle was well and truly lost. That didn’t mean she didn’t give it a few more tries, but eventually she resigned herself to her fate and found her way into the car she was assured was the height of style and comfort for a lady such as herself.

As if there were other ladies such as herself.

The conductor lingered long enough to make the proper introductions - she would be traveling with Baron Birkitt’s widow, the elderly Lady Birkitt, the young Mrs. Pearson, and Mrs. Pearson’s wide-eyed son - before making a quick escape.

Please, Lady Elizabeth, you simply must sit with me, Lady Birkitt said, indicating the small square of upholstery not covered by her massive black skirt. Not wanting to be rude, Bits attempted to squeeze herself into the small space, but managed to smash the edge of the woman’s dress. Heat rose to her fair cheeks as the elderly lady eyed Bits’s middle as if it was her girth instead of the volume of the dress to blame.

Tell me, Lady Birkitt said once Bits was finally settled, did I not see you with the Earl of Braxton at the station?

It is certainly possible since he escorted me here. Escorted. Dragged. When it came to this trip they were one and the same.

I did not realize the earl had become engaged. My congratulations, Lady Elizabeth.

Engaged? What a laughable idea. Engaged was one of the last states of being in which Henrick would find himself unless one was referring to a lively discussion or indecent acts.

Yes, engaged. One would think a proper lady would have some sort of agreement with a gentleman before she allowed him to be her sole escort to the train station.

Bits wanted to roll her eyes at Lady Birkitt’s insult and presumptions, but she miraculously maintained control over her irises despite their desire to rebel.

I’m sorry to disappoint, but Lord Braxton isn’t engaged, and most certainly not to me. I am his sister.

Lady Birkitt’s eyes narrowed. I thought you married a duke.

"His other sister."

And there was the story of her life in three words.

The other sister.

Sarah was the thin, pretty one. The talented, well-spoken one. The one who set the ballrooms ablaze during her debut and found herself wed to a duke before London could fully thaw.

Bits was the other sister. The one who was described as plain when the speaker was feeling generous. The one who could not carry a conversation about the weather for more than a few painful minutes and often forgot which fork went with which course during a formal dinner.

The one who was on a train bound for Scotland because her family was quite simply done with her.

Not that she was upset by their abandonment or anything. Certainly not. She merely wanted to burst into tears every few moments because it felt like the appropriate thing to do in light of the fact she was being sent to Scotland, of all places.

What was she to do in Scotland? She’d never been further north than Birmingham in her life. Her mind conjured images of drafty old castles and sheep, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself to stave off the impending cold.

I knew your parents, Lady Birkitt continued, oblivious to Bits’s internal distress. "Your mother was good ton. I knew from the moment she was introduced at Almack’s she would make an excellent match. And she did. The daughter of a mere country lord landing an earl. Quite the coup, even if your father had his eccentricities."

It was a love match, Bits replied, working to keep her voice even. The eccentricities most of polite London enjoyed gossiping about wherever her family went were responsible for many of the luxuries they enjoyed, including the serving drone that brought tea to the train car before their departure. My mother would have had my father if he was nothing more than a penniless Smith.

Yes, well lucky for Lady Braxton he was one of the wealthiest earls in England instead. Lady Birkitt peered down her nose at Bits as she said it, as if marrying a baron had somehow put her at a station and intelligence higher than that of the wife and daughter of an earl. Bits may have thought it was all in her head, but Mrs. Pearson’s raised eyebrows made her feel as if she’d read the expression correctly.

Bits didn’t mind the slight. Not really. Perhaps if she’d been raised by her mother until she reached her majority, she would have. But she hadn’t been so lucky. She was still in the schoolroom when her parents died, leaving her in the care of her recently married sister.

Life with Sarah and Keaton hadn’t been a burden. In the beginning, Sarah attempted to mold Bits into yet another version of herself, but when it became apparent Bits would never fit, she simply gave up. Once Sarah had a daughter on which she could dote, Bits became nothing more than a background figure.

Some may have thought her lot in life sad, but not Bits. She didn’t care for the spotlight or Society, and Sarah let her avoid both. Oh, she made certain Bits was prepared for her debut and dragged her to ball after ball those first few years she was out, but eventually she gave up on that as well. She allowed Bits to hide away in Keaton’s townhouse and rarely inquired how she spent her time.

Bits was left to her own devices, which was all she ever truly wanted. And if she got a little lonely from time to time, well that was to be expected. When she found herself becoming maudlin she would seek out the company of her nieces and nephews, whom she adored. She was, in many ways, a sort of extra nanny to the children. She rocked them as they cried, answered their unending list of questions, and helped them with their sums. But as time marched on, they needed her less and less, even though her need for them didn’t diminish in the least.

She should have known she couldn’t have gone on as a living ghost in Sarah’s home forever, yet she’d thought she had more time. Celeste was still a child, years away from her first season. Bits adored the girl and wanted only the very best for her. When she said as much, Sarah had replied that having a spinster aunt with a reputation for being odd flitting around London, just waiting to trip and fall into a scandal, would do the girl no favors.

A week later Bits found herself sitting on a train bound for Scotland.

What was she more apprehensive over? Being thrust into an unfamiliar and unforgiving land or the man who would be waiting for her once she arrived?

Are you chilled, my lady?

The soft words pulled her back to the present. Unconsciously, she had once again wrapped her arms around herself, her hands attempting to rub some warmth where none existed despite the close quarters.

I have a shawl. Mrs. Pearson’s voice was like a hundred tiny silver bells ringing in one accord. It’s not quite as fine as what you’re used to, I’m certain, she said, offering Bits a plain but finely woven shawl, but it should keep you warm.

Bits accepted the bundle with a smile. Thank you. What a lovely gesture and pattern. I do believe this is some of the most impressive needlework I’ve seen in some time.

Thank you, my lady, Mrs. Pearson said as she dipped her head. A small smile tugged the corners of her mouth.

The smile died a quick death at the nasally, vile sound Lady Birkett made as she glared at the shawl as if it had recently been plucked off a lice-infected street vagrant.

You know my dear, she sniffed, your mother was a woman of impeccable taste. I hear your sister is much the same. The unlike you was implied. I often look across a ballroom and miss the grace she could add to any gathering, but I must say, I envy that she is not alive to see the state that our world is coming to: men flying about in great, ungodly machines above the earth, the way young couples cling to each other as they waltz. Lady Birkett’s nose curled as her eyes latched on a bit of ribbon adorned with charms tied around Mrs. Pearson’s wrist. "Could you imagine what your poor mother would say if she knew they were allowed to travel alongside women like ourselves?" She spat out the last with so much venom Bits wondered if the air would become contaminated and unfit for breath.

For her part, Mrs. Pearson did not say a word, but then again, she did not have to. What Bits hadn’t bothered noticing was Mrs. Pearson wasn’t just an untitled woman, but one of them.

They had many names. They referred to themselves as Touched, but the rest of the world called them changelings, fairies, and an entire host of names not fit for a lady’s ears. Yet, in conversation, they were most often simply referred to as them.

I saw one of them at the shop today…

I would never employ one of them in my household…

Eat your stew, children, or one of them will come and carry you away…

The last was rubbish, of course. The Touched didn’t steal children away, no matter what some less scrupulous governesses might say. Yet, old wives’ tales have a way of living long after the wives who told them turned to dust. People still shirked in fear from those who were Touched, and not just children. Shops made a fortune selling iron pendants, which they claimed was poison to the Touched, as if they were fairies in truth instead of mere mortals who happened to be able to use magic.

Most of the time it was hard to pick out a single person who was Touched in a room full of Untouched. The only way to know, outside of seeing them work actual magic or catch a glimpse of the charms they wore around their person, was the eyes. At times, the iris of their eyes turned an unworldly silver. Bits had once heard that their eyes only changed when they were about to cast a hex. For Lady Birkitt’s sake, she hoped they were wrong, because at that precise moment Mrs. Pearson’s eyes were the purest of silver.

I shall be having a word with the head of the rail company as soon as I arrive in Scotland, Lady Birkitt continued, either oblivious or uncaring to the potential danger. A lady should not be made to travel with lesser, vile creatures.

Mrs. Pearson’s body shook, whether from rage or magic Bits did not know, while her son, who couldn’t have been any more than two, studied at the floor as if he wished he could discover a hole through which to disappear.

There were a myriad of reasons Bits was the proverbial oil to Society’s water. Perhaps chief among them was her inability to keep her tongue in check when her anger had been riled.

You’re absolutely right, Bits found herself saying before she could think better of it. A lady shouldn’t have to travel alongside lesser, vile creatures. Yet, here I am. She gave a great, heaving sigh, the type she normally reserved for the occasions her sister felt the need to lecture her on behavior befitting a lady. At this point, there isn’t much that can be done, although I do suppose it is possible to avoid having to sit alongside someone so deplorable. She turned her gaze to Mrs. Pearson and gave what she hoped was a winning smile. Mrs. Pearson, do you think you and your son would have room for one more on your side of the cart? I fear this seat has become rather unappealing.

There was a beat of silence, and then the silver in Mrs. Pearson’s eyes receded to show velvety brown irises. Her lips quirked up, revealing a dimple.

We would be honored to have you join us, Lady Elizabeth, Mrs. Pearson said, shuffling her son closer to her side.

With all the regal bearing she could muster, Bits pushed past the mass of black skirts blocking her way and moved onto the other bench without sparing Lady Birkitt a glance. Oh, please, call me Bits, she insisted, allowing the Touched woman a privilege she had not extended to the baron’s widow. We’ve a long journey ahead, and I do hope we can be friends.

Friends. Mrs. Pearson tested the word as if she had never had cause to use it before. Yes, she finally decided. I would like that. And as friends, I must insist you call me Alice.

It would be my pleasure, Alice. Bits turned her attention to the young boy, who was still staring fastidiously at the floor. And what should I call you, my lord? Or are you a sir? She tapped her chin as if in deep thought. I think the latter. You certainly look like a brave knight to me.

This is Robert. Alice’s fingers trailed through her son’s hair. He doesn’t talk.

Bits had quite a bit of experience with children and knew many didn’t begin to start chattering away until they were older, but something about the way Alice had said her son didn’t talk made her think his silence wasn’t simply a case of not hitting that particular milestone yet. While Bits might flounder when speaking with other members of the ton, she had always found kindred souls in children, especially children like Robert who didn’t quite fit into the perfect, cherubic role society had made for them.

Ah, then a more ideal gentleman I have yet to meet, for I do so love a man who will let me do all the talking, she said, hoping to put the young boy at ease. It allows me to prattle on about all my favorite things. For example, I simply adore this new hairpin of mine. She reached into her coiffure and pulled out a decorative butterfly. I got it the other day and thought it complimented my new traveling outfit quite well. The stained-glass wings sat in a frame of thin gold wires. Bits rubbed the bottom of the thorax a few times with her finger before sitting it on Robert’s knee. But this, she said as the butterfly’s wings began to flap, is my favorite part.

With a few more flaps of its wings, the automaton lifted off of Robert’s knee and started fluttering around the car. Lady Birkitt squealed and swatted at it as if it were an angry wasp instead of the perfect union of fashion, science, and whimsy Bits considered it to be. Alice laughed as it circled around her head, and Robert finally looked up from the floor, the smallest of smiles on his overly-serious face.

Would you like to try it? Bits offered once its flight was complete. She turned the butterfly over to show Robert where the tiny gear was located; he merely stared. Bits was just about to ask if he would rather she showed him how it worked again when Alice said, It’s okay, love. Go ahead. No one will be cross at you for touching it.

It took several more breaths, but finally Robert’s finger slowly stretched out to touch the automaton. Once his finger was on the gear, his eyes filled with apprehension, as if he expected her to snatch it back or yell at him for doing it wrong.

Her heart squeezed. What could have happened to a child so small to make him so mistrustful?

That’s right, she assured him. Just roll your finger over it a few times to get it wound up.

Robert did as instructed, and once he was finished, she flipped it back over and placed it in his hand. This time a full smile spread across his face as the butterfly took flight.

Excellent job, Robert. I do believe—

Bits’s words were cut off by the door of the car slamming open. Unfortunately, the automaton was flying near enough that it was swept up and smashed against the wall. Tiny pieces of glass and miniature gears scattered across the floor, but Bits had little time to mourn the loss. Too much of her concentration was needed to be completely terrified by the two men standing in the now open door. They were perched on some type of horseless cart which was not only keeping pace with the moving train, but staying steady enough they were able to aim their guns inside.

How had they found out who she was and what she could do? And how did they find her here?

Didn’t think we would find you, did you, gel? the one with thick eyebrows and greasy locks of hair asked in an accent more refined than one would expect out of a person whose neckcloth was stained with tobacco and breath reeked of gin. His Lordship is none too pleased that you tried to run off.

Since the only lords who cared one whit about Bits’s whereabouts were the ones to put her on this train in the first place, she had to assume they hadn’t meant her.

I say, what is the meaning of all this, Lady Birkitt barked at the gentlemen as if her snobbery alone could stop a bullet. Put those things away and conduct your business elsewhere. Do you have any idea who I am?

Mr. Eyebrows spit on the floor, the wad of tobacco narrowly missing Lady Birkitt’s boots. No, nor do I care. I’m here for the fairy and the boy, and I won’t be letting any overstuffed toff get in my way. Now mind your mouth and hand over what belongs to us, and we’ll be on our way.

Bits’s heart galloped like a team of runaway horses. She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew she couldn’t just sit by and let these men take Alice and Robert. Whatever their purpose, it certainly wasn’t admirable.

The ring adoring her middle finger felt heavy. She’d put it on never believing she would have the occasion to use it, yet if ever there was a time to put a bit of protective jewelry to use, this was it. Her thumb found the small gear and began worrying it back and forth.

Beside her, Alice had pulled on the silver chain around her neck and snatched a vial from the collection of trinkets attached. It appeared as innocuous as water, but when she pulled the stopper, the smell of sulfur filled the car.

Put down the potion, Eyebrows said, thrusting his pistol forward. His lordship didn’t say anything about bringing you back alive. Just the boy.

Heedless of the man’s threats and the barrel of the gun pointed at her face, Alice started chanting. Bits understood Latin, French, and German, but Alice’s incantation resembled none of those. Gaelic was the most obvious choice. Many Touched claimed to be descendants of pagan gods.

I said to stop. Eyebrows braced his hands on the door of the carriage and leapt inside. As he did, Bits slammed the back of her hand against his abdomen. A sharp bite of electricity went all the way down to her elbow, but it was nothing compared to what Eyebrows felt. His body jerked back and then crumbled, like a puppet cut from its strings.

Her victory was short-lived. How she could have forgotten the second man she didn’t quite know, but forgot him she had. Unfortunately, he had not forgotten her. He, too, was now in the carriage, his pistol pointed at Bits. Alice’s voice rose and transformed until it sounded like an entire chorus. Realizing where the true threat was, he didn’t waste his bullet on Bits. Instead, he slammed his pistol against the side of her head with enough force her head snapped back. She was vaguely aware of her body slumping rather unbecomingly to the side as darkness ate away at the edges of her vision. Just before she completely lost her senses, she heard Alice’s voice suddenly go silent, and then the world exploded.

Chapter 2

The guest rooms of Breena Manor were all lushly appointed. Even the smallest and most seldom used was papered in satin, boasted priceless works of art on the wall, and had a thick, plush carpet. At the moment, it was the last of these items for which Ezra Nash was grateful.

Will she live?

He was painfully aware of each of the bones and muscles required to raise his head and meet the eyes of Corrigan’s prodigal daughter.

Yes. It will be a while before she wakes up, but she will live.

Lady Alice Pearson stood above him in the door of the guest room they had converted into a sick room. Will you?

Would he? He was as close to total exhaustion as he’d ever been. Residual magic hammered through his veins and crawled beneath his skin. Aether swirled in the air before him and everything around him, from the woman lying on the bed to the boots on his feet, hummed with energy. But he could think and reason, and even though he was currently slumped in the floor, he was aware he was slumped in the floor, so all was not lost yet.

He was surprised to discover Alice was no longer lingering in the doorway, but standing beside him.

She was also undoing the buttons along the front of her dress.

What are you doing? he asked, even though the answer was fairly obvious. The panic was another good sign. If he was alert enough to understand the wrongness in seeing Alice naked, then he was certainly in no danger of succumbing to the magic currently eating away at his body.

Alice flicked another set of buttons open with an uncomfortable amount of efficiency. You have done me a great service by healing my friend. I owe you a debt.

"Certainly not that sort of debt. For God’s sake, Alice, stop taking off your clothes."

She stopped with her dress pulled down over one shoulder. Through the material of her chemise he could see the outline of one breast. He closed his eyes and wondered if there was a spell to alter the human brain so as to erase images one should have never seen.

Ezra, you need to expel your Residual, she said as if speaking to a very small child.

I am well aware of that fact, however there is more than one way to relieve oneself of such a burden. In fact, most any strenuous activity could burn off the excess magic casting left behind in a Touched’s body. Bed sport just happened to be the only activity that not only helped siphon off the Residual, but fed untainted energy back into the practitioner. The fact that it was also the most enjoyable of all the ways commonly employed secured its position as the single most popular method.

Yet, despite being effective and enjoyable, there was no way Ezra was using Jack’s little sister to take care of his current needs. For one, Alice was very much like a sister to him as well. For another, Jack would kill him.

As if knowing the direction of his thoughts, Alice slid her dress back into place with an exasperated sigh he’d heard often during their childhood.

You do realize you can barely stand, she said, fastening the row of pearl buttons she had undone only moments before. You can’t even walk to the ring. How exactly you plan to punch Jack enough times to get that much magic out of you is beyond my imaginings.

I am afraid I left my boxing days behind in school when I realized the only things stepping into the ring with your brother would get me were a black eye and bruised ego.

You cannot fence.

Ezra tried to shake his head, but it merely lolled to one side. Not even on a good day.

Riding is out of the question.

Most certainly.

He wasn’t aware of time passing, but one moment she was looking down at him as if she’d never seen a creature quite like him before in her life, and the next she had his head cradled in her hands and was slipping her tongue past the seam of his lips. Even then he was nearly oblivious to her soft lips and sweet taste. His entire focus was on the Residual slowly draining from his body. When she finally pulled back, he found himself leaning forward in an attempt to reclaim her lips.

Well, I guess that answers that, then, she said as she gracefully rose to her feet once again.

His body still buzzed, but Alice’s kiss had drained off enough of the excess magic that he was able to hold his own head up. I’m sorry, he said, pleased he was no longer slurring his words. I don’t follow.

Alice ran her hands along her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles. The rumors, she said. You’re going to do some sort of mystical, mumbo jumbo now, aren’t you?

It’s called meditation, he said, already arranging his body in the position a former classmate had shown him years ago. It’s not mumbo jumbo. And one would think you would have had more pressing things to do in the short time you have been home than indulge in gossip.

Very few could get away with reprimanding a descendant of an Oberon, but Alice had grown up alongside Ezra’s own sisters. In many ways he felt as if he was responsible for her as well, even if it had been years since they had last seen one another. No one knew where she had been these last four years, but when they had been